


There's Never Smoke Without Fire

by akitsuko



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rimming, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Nick wants Monroe to be safe, and Monroe wants Nick to stop being so difficult.





	There's Never Smoke Without Fire

They were friends.

It hadn't been easy, given their peculiar circumstances, and yet somehow, without really trying, it had happened. Nick was a detective. He had an ease about him that made him amiable, and people liked him. He enjoyed a social beer or two. He would go out of his way to do what he could to help total strangers in their hours of need. He was fearless and brave. His good looks were classical and masculine, and his expressions were open and sincere. He seemed to draw others in like a magnet, and still never took advantage of a single soul.

Monroe saw himself, by comparison, almost as comic relief. He certainly wasn't the easy, sociable creature that Nick was. He was brooding, and at the same time awkward, always managing to say far too much before he caught up with himself. He guarded himself with sarcasm and had a speciality for second-guessing. He was the type of guy that people would politely engage in conversation before almost immediately regretting it and wishing they could get away again. It wasn't that he was unfriendly as such, just that more often than not he struggled to relate, and this came through clearly in his manner of speaking. He was well aware that he could be perceived as weird. Neither was he handsome like Nick; while Nick had been blessed with good genes, Monroe felt he wore his hardships on his face, and found himself frequently slouching to minimise his height and blend in a little better.

Even before the Grimm-Blutbad thing came into it, they were an unlikely pair. Nick solved crimes and Monroe fixed clocks.

Yet here they were. Almost closer than close. They regularly faced life-and-death together, and had a familiarity that most friendships could only ever aspire to. They practically lived out of each other's pockets, no need to knock before opening the front door, no need to ask before raiding the kitchen or borrowing  a shower. It was a strange and protective understanding, with Nick looking out for a Blutbad and Monroe in turn fiercely protective of a Grimm. They made a virtually unstoppable team.  It was almost a shared life. Unprecedented and uninvited, but Monroe could no longer imagine a life without Nick in it.

Not that he was even comfortable admitting that to himself.

They sat in a silence that was filled with relief, parked in Nick's car in front of Monroe's home. Nick had turned off the engine and allowed his arms to flop to his sides as he took deep breaths. Monroe slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed as he allowed the weight of his head to sink into the headrest. After a few moments, he swivelled his head to look over at Nick with glazed eyes, and Nick turned too, almost a mirror image.

"Never again, man. Never again."

Nick let out a short, breathless laugh. "I'm with you on that one."

The case had begun typically, a police investigation that Monroe had found himself dragged into as soon as Nick suspected wesen involvement. They'd gone through the contents of Nick's Grimm books, hoping to find more information about how to deal with the wesen in question but coming away with more questions than answers. Their next stop had predictably been the spice shop, where Rosalee had been able to put together a concoction that she assured them would solve the problem. Or, after a couple of raised eyebrows at her overconfident tone, would probably solve the problem. A stakeout and a sneak attack later, they'd ended up against not just one Schakal but three, and Rosalee's disabling solution on the bolts of Nick's crossbow wasn't enough to get them out of a fight. In the end, Monroe was pleased to say they'd come out on top, but it had been necessary for him to woge and they certainly hadn't come out of it unscathed. Then there had been the business of altering the crime scene and coming up with a believable cover story, which hadn't been too difficult when Monroe discovered a stash of human limbs stinking out the kitchen ("Dude, this is worse than nasty..."). The rest of the evening and a lot of the night saw cops and forensics in and out of the building, Nick and Hank taking charge, while Monroe made himself scarce. He sat in a nearby park under the moonlight, keeping an ear out for anyone nearby, and carefully worked at picking bits of broken glass out of his wounds. He winced as he touched his fingers to the tender area at the back of his head, crusty with what he could only assume was dried blood, caused by one of those Schakal bastards smashing him with a baseball bat early in the altercation. Not a lot he could do about that one until he got home. He patted himself down, feeling for the areas that would be purple and bruised by the morning, checking for any especially sharp pain that might suggest a fracture. His pain tolerance was high and he was a fast healer, but he still didn't want to do anything that might aggravate his injuries if he could help it.

It felt like an eternity before his phone buzzed in his pocket, Nick checking where he was, and he found his thumbs a little clumsier than normal as he punched in a short reply. A few minutes later and the two of them were on their way home together, and those were the first words they'd spoken to each other since separating at the scene.

"Come on." Monroe slid out of the car gingerly, attempting to minimise his discomfort. "Better get cleaned up."

They crossed the threshold of the house with an unmistakeable weariness. When Monroe flicked on the lights, it was the first time they had really been able to see each other since the fight, and for a few moments they just stared at each other, dumbfounded.

Monroe was the first to break the silence. "You are a mess."

Nick snorted. "Like you can talk. Have you looked at yourself?"

Monroe peeled off his coat, and Nick shrugged his leather jacket from his shoulders. They had clearly both been in better shape. Monroe had no idea how bad he looked, but was stunned by the state of Nick, who was sporting a bloodshot eye with an already-forming bruise, blood caked at one of his temples, a split lip with dried blood down his chin, swelling at the bridge of his nose and a deep cut in the flesh of his cheek. And that was only his face. His movements were no less careful than Monroe's, a tell-tale sign that he must have been feeling pretty battered. When Monroe checked himself in the living room mirror, he was unsurprised to find that he didn't look a great deal better. In hindsight, they'd both been lucky. Had Monroe not been a Blutbad, the evening could have gone very differently, and the possibilities that came to mind made him feel sick to his stomach.

Nick appeared next to him and grimaced at the sight of his own reflection. "Wow," he murmured, bringing his hand to his face to prod at his blackening eye and the slice in his cheek. "I get the feeling I'm gonna be sore in the morning."

To be honest, Monroe was simply glad that Nick was still alive. It was a feeling he experienced far too often for his own liking, and it never failed to make his stomach churn. Chances were that, one of these days, Nick was going to take on more than he could handle, and it was a phone call Monroe was dreading. To find himself suddenly in a world without Nick... the thought was enough to clench at his heart and he emitted a low growl before he realised what he was doing. Nick shot him a look full of concern, probably thinking he was seriously hurt in some way and in a great deal of pain (which wouldn't have been a completely inaccurate assumption), so Monroe cut him off before he had the chance to probe. "It's nothing. Nothing a beer and some sleep won't help with, anyway."

"Are you kidding? From the back, you look like you're missing a chunk of brain." Nick reached up, as if to touch Monroe's head wound.

This time it was Monroe's turn to snort, and he batted Nick's hand away. "I don't know how you can even see with your eye like that."

Giving him a 'duh' look, Nick pointed at his good eye. "I do have two, you know."

After checking out their various injuries in the mirror for a little longer, Monroe went to the kitchen to retrieve his first aid kit and some ice packs. He came back and sat Nick in one of the dining room chairs, before pulling out another for himself, sitting facing Nick, close enough that their knees were pressed together and Monroe could see the individual little red capillaries blocking out the white of Nick's eye. He couldn't help but wince in a sort of pained sympathy, while simultaneously feeling just a flutter of excitement at their small and casual contact. He cleared his throat, and he could see that Nick was trying to grin with his bloody lip. He busied himself rummaging through the first aid kit, avoiding any further eye contact despite being able to feel Nick's gaze on him.

"Monroe, I can deal with this myself."

"Shut up, and hold this against your head." Monroe dumped one of the ice packs into Nick's hand, and Nick, rolling his eyes, did as he was told. Monroe finally found the tweezers in his kit and, clearing his throat again, shuffled closer. His intention was to get a better look at the cuts on Nick's face and remove any shards of glass, as he had done with his own, but the proximity meant that he could feel Nick's breath on his face, could smell Nick every time he inhaled, and it was difficult to steady his free hand as he took Nick's chin between his thumb and forefinger. He felt his face beginning to flush and he prayed that Nick wouldn't notice, or at least wouldn't comment.

He was playing a dangerous game here and he knew it. Nick was his most important person, and he was inches away from his face, smelling of sweat and blood and home, and the temptation to just do something, something from his list of Things Not Allowed, was almost overwhelming. He rarely even allowed himself to think about those things.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Nick was hurt. The thought helped to ground him, and he tilted Nick's face toward the light, reaching with the tweezers to remove a tiny glass shard from the cut on his cheek. Gentle though he tried to be, Nick jerked slightly at the contact, and Monroe momentarily met his eyes to shoot him an apologetic look. A small chuckle rumbled in Nick's chest. "Sorry. Didn't realise that would sting."

It was Monroe's turn to roll his eyes. "What did you expect?" He continued with his task, turning Nick's head this way and that, letting go of his chin only when he was satisfied that there were no more hidden bits of glass. His hand trembled as he allowed it to drop, and he was relieved for the opportunity to gather his thoughts and calm himself as he cleaned and replaced the tweezers before fishing out a handful of antiseptic wipes. Nick watched his movements, although he was clearly deep in thought himself. Monroe tore open one of the wipes and settled his gaze back on Nick's face. "This is going to hurt more."

Nick nodded almost imperceptibly, still gazing off into space, and Monroe began to clean away the dried blood. It turned out that Nick's nose was very tender to the touch, and he hissed in a sharp breath as the antiseptic solution came into contact with the open wound on his cheek. As the blood caked to the side of his head was cleaned, Monroe was relieved to see that the wound itself wasn't as bad as he had anticipated, although it was still bound to leave Nick with a stinking headache. He then cleaned up the blood on Nick's chin, avoiding touching his mouth as far as possible because that was an added temptation that he definitely did not need. Eventually satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, while Nick moved the icepack from his head to his nose.

"I should never have asked you to come," Nick blurted into the silence. "You always end up getting hurt because of me."

Monroe shrugged his shoulders. "You're lucky I did come."

"It isn't fair on you."

"If you think I'm going to let you get yourself killed, think again."

"Being a Grimm is my burden, not yours. Look at you. I need to stop getting you involved-"

"Nick," Monroe interrupted, giving him a gentle kick in the shin to get Nick to look at him. "I can take care of myself, and I am capable of making my own decisions. You don't force me to go anywhere or do anything. I help you because..." he paused, trying to think of the appropriate words. "...because I want to. Because I feel like I'm doing something good. Besides, we make a great team, right? A Grimm and a Blutbad... I mean, who'd have thought?"

Nick chewed on his lip, clearly not convinced. "I just... If you hadn't been there tonight, you wouldn't be hurt right now."

"If I hadn't been there tonight, you'd have been next on the Schakal dinner menu!" Monroe was raising his voice now, unable to quite believe Nick's ignorance. "In case you didn't notice, even with both of us there we had a hard time against three of them. You think you'd have stood a chance alone? Not to minimise your Grimm skills or anything, but if taking a pummelling is what it takes to prevent your otherwise inevitable death, you'd better believe I'll go down fighting. You're important, Nick. As a cop, as a Grimm, and to me. None of this martyrdom thing you're doing is going to stop me helping you out however I can."

He took a breath and saw that Nick was giving him an odd look, and mentally chastised himself for allowing his mouth to run before his brain had a chance to catch up. The pause seemed to go on forever, but eventually Nick replied, "You're a great friend. I promise I'll do my best to protect you."

Monroe averted his gaze to the floor and again found himself hoping that Nick wouldn't notice a blush rising to his face. He was still unused to receiving compliments, and hearing them from Nick never failed to make his heart beat a little faster. "I'm not the one who needs protecting," he grumbled, almost under his breath. He straightened in his chair, inhaling deeply (inadvertently getting another noseful of Nick's scent) and stretching his arms above his head. Being on his own territory, the adrenaline of the evening was wearing off, and he was really starting to realise how much he ached.

Nick must have caught the expression of discomfort that crossed his face, because he leaned forward with concern and began to reach for the first aid kit. "Do you want me to-"

"No!" Monroe snapped a little too quickly. "No. I, uh, dealt with the glass in my face while I was waiting for you." He didn't say that feeling Nick's hands touching his face might be more than he was able to endure at the moment, that sitting and allowing Nick to tend to his wounds might feel more intimate than it had any right to, might set him off wishing for things that he could never have. Nick held up his hands, then got to his feet with a groan. Monroe pretended not to notice that he was limping a little as he made his way to the kitchen, and he heard water start running. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and rested his elbows on his thighs. He was so screwed.

He tensed as he felt Nick's hand come down on his shoulder and he immediately made an attempt to rise. "Stay there," Nick commanded, gently but firmly keeping him seated. Monroe felt something warm and damp touch the wound at the back of his head, and he couldn't help but growl as unexpected pain shot through him. "Relax," Nick continued. "Even if you won't let me do anything else, I'm going to get this one cleaned up. I've gotta tell you, it looks bad."

"Feels it too," Monroe replied through gritted teeth as he tensed through the pain. He tried to focus on the feeling of Nick's touches rather than the pain in his head, and it helped a little. Every time Nick's fingers slipped through his hair a little, almost like a caress, he tried to imagine that it was deliberate. Nick's breath was warm on the back of his neck, and he could feel his hairs standing on end with the stimulation. He allowed his eyes to slide shut and, just for a second, he pretended Nick was touching him just because he wanted to. Warmth pooled in his belly at the thought, and the corners of his lips turned upwards involuntarily. He almost leaned back into the touch.

Then another bolt of pain shot through him and he was dumped back into his reality of head wounds and feelings that weren't fair.

Once Nick had deemed the wound as clean as it was going to get for the moment, he removed the cloth he was using and rested his fingertips lightly on the back of Monroe's neck. Monroe forced himself to breathe as normally as possible; his toes curled as he tried to ward off any physical reaction to the touch. "I'll be fine," he murmured. He could clearly envisage the worry and guilt on Nick's face as he surveyed the damage. It wasn't an expression he enjoyed seeing - even if he would internally agree that the whole situation was partially Nick's fault - and he wanted it gone before he next got a look at Nick.

Then Nick's fingers were gone, and Monroe felt more than heard as he let out a deep exhale and headed back toward the kitchen. "I don't know about you, but I could do with a drink."

"God, yes," Monroe called back. "But first, I'm gonna take a shower."

* * *

Monroe hadn't fully appreciated how beaten up he was until the hot water seemed to set all his wounds alight. He hissed at the pain and clenched his fists, bracing himself against the tiles. Still, there was something refreshing about seeing water murky with blood swirling down the plughole. He approached his sore head with a tentative wariness, but the inevitable pain seared through him regardless. It was almost a blessing when the water started to run clear and he shut it off, carefully patting himself dry and dressing in loose clothes.

Nick took his turn next, and Monroe busied himself downstairs as a distraction from the thought of Nick so close and naked and delicious. Thankfully, he was good at distractions. He took two beers from the fridge, and threw together a quick stir fry. Measured chopping and instinctive cooking... it was almost meditative in the way it calmed his mind. The scent of spices filled his nostrils and he let himself become immersed in the task. The distraction was so successful that he didn't even realise Nick was finished in the shower until he turned and saw the man leaning against the door frame, hair damp and that damn lopsided smile on his face and wearing Monroe's clothes, holy hell.

"Smells great."

Monroe swallowed the lump that had materialised in his throat and turned back to the cooking. "It's not much, but I could do with getting some food in my stomach before I pass out for the rest of the night."

"You were planning to share, right?"

"Didn't figure I had much choice." The grumpiness came so easily to him, a mask he automatically wore around Nick, although the truth was that he almost always cooked enough for two, just in case Nick made an impromptu visit. "Why are you wearing my clothes?"

Nick looked down at himself as though this was the first time he'd noticed, then shrugged. "I don't exactly keep a stash of my own spares anywhere here. Does it bother you?"

His back to Nick, Monroe clenched his eyes shut for a second in exasperation. Did it bother him? It bothered him on so many levels, it was unreal. But he kept that thought to himself, and simply said, "You should. Keep spare clothes here, I mean. If this is going to continue to be a regular thing."

He braved a quick glance at Nick, who was giving him a quizzical look. When he volunteered nothing further, Nick got to work finding plates and cutlery for the food, and popped the cap on one of the beers. "Why does it bother you?"

There was nothing accusatory or defensive in his tone, only curiosity, and Monroe awkwardly shuffled his weight between his feet. "It's... They'll...It doesn't matter. I... No, it really doesn't matter."

Unfortunately, Nick could be like a dog with a bone, and he'd apparently decided that this was one of the things he wasn't going to let go of until he received an answer he was happy with. He crowded Monroe's space and raised his eyebrows expectantly - or, as best he could with his busted eye. "I'm interested."

Damn him and his deep voice and his suggestive tone and his piercing eyes that always seemed to rob Monroe of his capability for rational thought. Besides, Monroe had always been a terrible liar, and he didn't figure this was an ideal time to see how well those skills were coming along. He pointedly avoided Nick's gaze as he mumbled, "They'll smell like you."

"Oh." The space between them was now tinged with an awkwardness that Monroe was keen to erase as soon as possible. But before he could think of anything appropriate to say, Nick asked, "Is that weird?"

"Uh, yeah, it's..." Monroe trailed off as he shot a look at Nick just in time to see him throw his head back to take a swig from his bottle, exposing the long lines of his neck, shadows dancing over tendons as he swallowed deeply and Jesus, Monroe couldn't think of anything other than how absolutely delicious it would be to sink his teeth in. His mouth watered as he stared, and he struggled to finish his sentence without his voice breaking a little. "...weird." He cleared his throat. "But I guess I'll have to deal with it."

Nick was oblivious to his discomfort, apparently far more interested in enjoying his beer. Again Monroe tore his gaze away, and instead he concentrated on getting their very late dinner served up. They ate opposite each other at the table, enjoying a level of companionable quiet while Monroe in equal parts tried not to worry about Nick's injuries and tried not to pay too much attention to Nick's neck or mouth. It wasn't long before the plates were cleared, Nick was out for the count on Monroe's couch and Monroe lay awake in his own bed, thinking about everything he couldn't have and unable to get himself comfortable.

* * *

All too soon, it seemed, they were doing it again. Taking on a ridiculously dangerous situation to satisfy Nick's hero complex and give Monroe a sense of redemption from his pre-Wieder behaviour. Nick especially had barely healed from the last time; the bruising around his eye was yellow, and Monroe knew that pain in his ribs continued to give him trouble. Still he stood there, staring down the Hexenbiest with defiance in his eyes and a rigidity to his stance that came from holding back his anger and trying not to behave too recklessly.

Monroe glanced quickly between the two of them, feeling in his bones that this was not going to end well. The Hexenbiest was too confident, her smile too cunning, for any wesen who was likely to be in imminent one-on-one combat with an armed Grimm. He had held back, was crouched behind some old machinery in the warehouse, ready to leap into action if it should seem that Nick was in trouble, but already he was agitated and it was taking all his self-control not to jump in and shield Nick before the fight had even begun. His blood thumped in his ears. For all that he was born with instincts designed for hunting and sneak attacks, beneath his calm exterior he was terrified that something awful was going to happen.

No point worrying about it, he attempted to tell himself. The best thing he could do was just be ready.

A sound was his only alert. A sound so small that only his superior hearing could have picked it up. His heart dropped in his chest as his gaze flitted up, just as a second Hexenbiest dropped from a concealed position, landing directly behind Nick. There was no time for Monroe to react, or even to shout a warning. The Hexenbiest was nimble and agile, and before Nick had even had a chance to turn around, she had a hand gripped in his hair and a cloth pressed against his face.

Monroe didn't wait to watch as Nick's eyelids drooped and his legs gave way beneath him. He was there in a split second, fully woged, fury and protectiveness pulsing through his veins. Instantly primal, no room for rationality, hungry for blood and violence. In a snarling rage of teeth, the Hexenbiest found herself missing a leg. She barely had a moment to comprehend this loss and let forth a terrible scream before Monroe tore out her throat.

It happened so quickly. Muzzle dripping with fresh blood, Monroe turned back to the first Hexenbiest, whose sly smile had been replaced with an expression of alarm. She didn't waste a moment in turning to run, but really she ought to have considered the effect it would have on a Blutbad, hard-wired to thrive on the chase. He caught up to her in seconds, slashing her legs from beneath her with razor-sharp claws, and she sprawled on the ground. She swung her head around to face him, also woged now, hideous and terrifying, but it wasn't nearly enough to take Monroe's attention from his single-minded mission. She had intended Nick harm, and he was not prepared to leave that undealt with. He took her throat too, no ceremony, revelling in the smell and taste of fresh blood gushing from the deep and fatal tear. He almost lost himself, ready to rip her apart even after her eyes had glazed and her breath had stopped. He had already started. It was too late to take back two kills, and it would be so satisfying, having gained a taste of what he normally worked so hard to deprive himself. Then he glimpsed Nick out of the corner of his eye, lying still on the concrete floor, and it was like being doused with cold water. He sprung up and away from the body as if it had burned him, shifting his features back, the coppery tang of blood in his mouth suddenly lacking appeal. He ran back to Nick, dropping to his knees beside him, and shook his shoulders in an attempt to rouse him.

"Come on, Nick. Don't do this to me." He couldn't help but pitch his voice higher with worry. Nick was breathing but unresponsive, and his body felt like a dead weight. For a moment, faced with the prospect of potentially losing his best friend, Monroe was paralysed and useless. "Nick, dude," he practically begged, moving his hands up to cup Nick's face and urgently tapping his cheek, hoping for any kind of answer. "You've got to wake up."

Nothing.

Monroe took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a shaky exhale to try and steady himself. He needed to get Nick to the spice shop. He hurriedly grabbed the cloth from where it had fallen to the floor and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, thanking whoever was responsible for Blutbad strength, he hauled Nick up into his arms and carried him outside to where they had left the car.

He called Rosalee as soon as he'd started the engine, and proceeded to break the speed limit, driving as much as possible with one hand clutching tightly at Nick's knee, as if it would anchor his existence.

By the time the car screeched to a halt outside the shop front, Rosalee was already waiting for them in the doorway and had the good grace not to mention the blood around Monroe's mouth and chin, . Nick had become pale and sweaty, his breath coming in shallow, laboured gasps. Monroe carried him inside and set him down on the couch in the back room, instantly relieved as Rosalee took charge. She quickly identified the potion infused on the cloth and got to work putting together a treatment. Monroe tried to help as best he could, getting ingredients from shelves and cupboards, grinding and mixing at Rosalee's command, but he didn't try to hide his awe at her professionalism. She had to have been almost as worried about Nick as he was, but she had an incredible ability to shove her emotions to the back of her mind and focus on the problem in front of her. She was an amazing woman, and Monroe wondered, not for the first time, what in the world he would do without her. While they worked, he snuck furtive glances at Nick, and if Rosalee noticed, she was good enough not to say anything. He suspected that she knew how he felt, even though he was reluctant to admit it to himself at times, but there was no one he would rather have in his corner. Well, almost.

Before long, although to Monroe it felt like a lifetime, the treatment was ready. Monroe crouched behind Nick and gently lifted his head while Rosalee tipped small amounts of the liquid mixture into his mouth. Chewing on his lip, Monroe couldn't recall many times that he had been this anxious, and he used his fingertips to caress the edges of Nick's face. His skin was cool and clammy to the touch. Suddenly, Nick spluttered; Monroe and Rosalee barely had time to reel out of the way before Nick lurched up and vomited over the side of the couch. Relief flooded Monroe's system, and without thinking he reached out to stroke a soothing hand through Nick's hair as he coughed. He caught Rosalee's gaze, and she looked just as relieved as he felt. "I think it worked," she commented gently, and gave Monroe a beaming smile. "I'd better get a mop."

She disappeared in the direction of the basement, and Monroe's full attention was back on Nick, who spluttered for a moment longer before collapsing back onto the couch with a groan. He squinted as he opened his eyes, adjusting to the light. "Monroe?" His voice was hoarse and uncertain.

"Hey," Monroe replied, unthinkingly sweeping Nick's hair to the side. "I'm here."

The corners of Nick's lips turned upward in a small smile, and his eyes drifted closed again. His complexion was still off and he was a little shaky, but he was awake and that was all that mattered to Monroe in that moment. "You always take care of me."

Monroe choked out a desperate laugh. "Are you kidding? I'm practically your babysitter." There was no sting to the words, no malice. There was no way he could hide the happiness in his voice. Just fighting the urge to gather Nick up in his arms and press him into the warmth and safety of his chest was a challenge.

Rosalee reappeared, mop and bucket in hand. She gave Monroe a knowing look, then set about cleaning the floor.

* * *

The week or so that followed saw Monroe reluctant to allow Nick out of his sight. Despite Nick's insistence that he was fine, Monroe had gone behind his back to have a quiet word with Renard about what had happened, which resulted in Nick being told in no uncertain terms that he was to take a few days to recuperate. Monroe had then suggested that Nick take up temporary residence in his spare room, citing that he wanted Nick close by in case any lingering after-effects of the potion began to appear, and Nick had agreed, citing the excellent coffee and home cooked dinner benefits.

And Nick really had seemed fine, but Monroe fussed around him anyway, and he found that they fell very quickly into a natural, domestic routine. It almost felt like the next logical step in their close and unusual relationship.

At first, Nick had attempted to be helpful around the house. But he mixed darks and lights in the laundry, and he put crockery away in the wrong places, and Monroe had found it necessary to order him to stop trying. As much as he enjoyed having Nick around all the time, too much deviation from the regimented details of his life would drive him crazy sooner rather than later. And it wasn't easy to have Nick's smell ingraining itself absolutely everywhere. On the second day, while Nick was showering, Monroe had gone into Nick's room and planted himself face down on the bed, inhaling deeply and moaning low in his throat at how dizzyingly sensational that scent was. There were no words that could have done it justice, and he wanted to stay there forever to enjoy it. It had only been when he heard the water shut off that he had come to his senses and darted back out of the room before Nick found him there and started questioning why he had a noseful of his sheets.

It was early one morning, while Monroe was in the middle of his pilates, that Nick had ambled down the stairs and leaned against the door-frame. He still looked half asleep, his hair sticking up at odd angles and he was failing to conceal a yawn. "I'm gonna get out of your hair today," he mumbled. "I'm feeling much better."

Monroe blinked and paused in his movements, taking a moment to process what he'd said. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah." Nick shifted his weight between his feet. "I appreciate you helping me out, but soon you'll be sick of me. I should go home."

Monroe sat up, breath coming heavily from his workout, and stared up at Nick, unsure of what to say. His first instinct was to blurt out that this was Nick's home too. He wanted Nick to stay. It had been just over a week, but even imagining the emptiness of the house without Nick's continued presence made Monroe feel sick. Frustrated, he wondered how he had allowed himself to become so invested, so mindlessly wrapped up in Nick that the thought of letting him leave made him snarl inside. His stomach dropped a little as the pieces clicked together in his mind - his possessiveness, his joy at Nick's scent all over his territory, the way he'd been willing to kill with no regard for his own safety just to protect Nick, his blood-curdling fear that Nick might have been taken from him, and now his reluctance to let Nick leave...

It was more than just the annoying infatuation he had assumed it to be. It was so much more. And that realisation filled him with resolve.

Resolve that threatened to crumble as soon as he stood up to approach Nick, and Nick looked at him with beautiful, sleepy eyes. Nick's sweatpants riding low on his hips, and his white tee just short enough to expose a sliver of hip. Nick's bare feet on the cool, laminate floor. Nick's expression, completely trusting, with a small and sad smile playing on his lips. "You don't have to," was all Monroe managed to say, all the other words sticking in his throat.

"Yeah, I do," Nick replied. He didn't look away, and he didn't offer any further explanation. There was a look in his eyes that Monroe couldn't quite decipher.

Then, just for a second, he recognised it. He recognised it from the countless times he'd stared at himself in the mirror as he pined for what he couldn't have. The struggle of holding back, the frustration of fighting back his instincts, the internal war between what he wanted and what he thought was the right thing to do. He could see that Nick felt it too.

Emboldened, but not without trepidation in case he was misreading everything, Monroe stepped into Nick's personal space. They'd been this close before, a hundred times or more, but now there was an electricity in the air, tension ramped up beyond the usual. Without thinking, Monroe sucked in a breath through his nose, and damn, that scent was intoxicating. "Stay," he rasped.

Studying Nick intently, he noticed as Nick's gaze flitted between his eyes and his mouth, and he felt it as Nick leaned perilously closer. Oh God, he thought as he allowed himself to fixate on Nick's lips, this was really happening. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he swallowed back his doubts and leaned forward, Nick's breath hot against his mouth.

Then Nick wasn't there anymore. He had staggered back a few steps, his eyes wide awake now and full of fear, leaving Monroe bewildered and more than a little hurt. "I can't," he said into the stunned silence, and hurriedly retreated back up the stairs.

For a split second, Monroe was frozen, rooted to the spot. Then it was as if one of the strings of his self-control snapped, and he realised that there was really only one course of action available to him. He sprinted up the stairs, hot on Nick's heels, and caught up with him just before Nick had a chance to hide behind the door of the guest room, long legs and Blutbad speed working once again in his favour. He grabbed Nick by the shoulder and spun him around, slamming him back into the wall, and he fisted his other hand in the collar of Nick's tee to stop him going anywhere. He was sure he looked angry; anger was winning out against confusion, vulnerability and defensiveness. But Nick's expression was equally pissed, and those eyes were fixed on him with determination.

"I don't like this game, Nick," Monroe growled. "Whatever you're playing at, it's not cool. That just now... I'm pretty sure I wasn't imagining it. So explain to me what the hell you're doing."

"Just forget it!" Nick snapped back, the blush rising to his face doing nothing to dissipate his anger. "I told you, I'm going home."

Monroe tightened his grip on Nick's collar. "The hell you are. You're not even leaving this spot until you can justify trying to screw me around like this."

"I'm not trying to screw you around!"

"So what are you trying to achieve, exactly?"

Nick gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. "I can't let you get hurt again because of me!"

That answer shocked Monroe into speechlessness. In an instant, all the anger evaporated out of him and he understood what Nick was trying to do. Nick wanted this just as much as he did. But already their friendship put Monroe into otherwise avoidable situations that did him more harm than good. He knew it bothered Nick that he got injured sometimes while accompanying him on wesen-related cases, and he knew that Nick blamed himself every time. And if they were to take this next step, to cross the boundaries of friendship into something else, there was every possibility that Monroe would be placed in even more danger. It was one thing for Nick's enemies to target his friends, but they would surely prioritise someone elevated to a more significant status. Nick wasn't trying to mess with him; he was trying to protect him.

All at once, Monroe felt himself overwhelmed by what he felt for this man, and he closed the gap between them. He pressed the entire length of his body against Nick, trapping him against the wall, and - oh god, finally - leaned in to take his mouth in a searing kiss.

It was more than he could ever have imagined. Nick's self-control had apparently been hanging by a thread too, because he pressed back, responding with his mouth and his tongue and his hands strong on Monroe's jaw, trying to pull him closer, one hand reaching back to grab a handful of Monroe's hair. They moaned simultaneously, and the sound went straight to Monroe's cock. He let go of Nick's collar, wrapping those fingers around the back of his neck instead, while bracing himself against the wall with the other hand. "Stupid," he mumbled as he nipped Nick's lower lip. "So stupid." He kissed him again, Nick melting against him, so much he wanted to say but couldn't. He needed Nick to feel how much he meant to him, needed Nick to see that he was protected too. All the emotions he felt bubbled below the surface. And Nick was so warm, so strong against him, so perfect, and Monroe didn't want to imagine a reality where they couldn't do this over and over again.

He pulled back just a fraction, their foreheads touching, their breath coming in heavy gasps, Nick's lips parted and swollen and wet, his pupils blown wide. Monroe drank in the sight, then took his mouth again because he just couldn't help it. Nick was grabbing at him now, hands at his waist and around his back, trying to pull him ever closer and get underneath his clothes to access skin. At the moment that Nick's fingertips grazed the sensitive area at the small of his back, Monroe couldn't help but groan and jerk his hips forward, to which Nick responded with an answering thrust. Monroe tore his mouth away to press frantic kisses along Nick's jawline, and Nick's head thumped back against the wall, eyes closed and throat working so beautifully. Monroe felt himself become rapidly and almost impossibly hard at the unintended gesture of submission and he attached himself to Nick's neck, sucking on the unmarked skin and biting as hard as he dared. Nick's chest heaved as a low and guttural sound was torn from him, eyes rolling back in his head. "God help me," he ground out, taking handfuls of Monroe's hair and yanking him back up to seal their lips together once again.

Monroe had thought that nothing could have topped Nick's scent, but the taste of him was out of this world. He kissed him hungrily and urgently, wanting everything that Nick had to give, already hopelessly addicted to all the little whines and whimpers he was making. "Closer," he gasped, his mouth pressed against Nick's face and his hands, suddenly clumsy, unsure whether to fumble with the hem of his tee or the waistband of his sweatpants. Then Nick's hands were at his shoulders, shoving him away with such force that he bumped into the wall across the hallway. For the briefest moment, through the haze in his brain, Monroe wondered what was wrong; however, as he took in the sight of Nick, messed up and mouth open and very definitely aroused, it was clear that nothing could be wrong.

It was like a race to see who could undress themselves the fastest, but they were both somewhat hindered by the sheer desperation and neither wanted to take their gaze from the other. Monroe practically tore off his own t-shirt, and watched Nick get tangled up in his. He shimmied out of his workout pants as he feasted on the sight of Nick's exposed torso, which of course he had seen many times before, but this time it was different because he was allowed - no, invited - to look, and he could touch as much as he wanted as long as Nick would let him, and Christ, he couldn't help himself. He surged forward just as Nick managed to escape from his tee, wrapping his arms around him to run eager hands over his bare skin, kissing him to get another taste of that delicious mouth. One of Nick's hands was back in his hair and the other was grabbing and digging into his ass. Somehow, Monroe managed to get one of his legs in between Nick's, giving them both something else to rub up against, and they quickly became a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and dirty sounds.

Monroe managed to guide them into his room and they toppled into bed together, Nick landing flat on his back and Monroe straddling him, knees either side of his hips.  He bit his lip but couldn't suppress a whine as Nick bucked his hips up, grinding against him, reaching up almost blindly in an attempt to pull Monroe down against him. Monroe rocked his hips back, and within moments they had established a beautiful rhythm, rutting back and forth to gain as much pleasure as possible in the shortest amount of time. And the sounds coming out of Nick were heavenly, deep sounds, keening sounds, primal sounds. Monroe couldn't look away from his flushed cheeks, his eyes rolling back in his head, his mouth hanging open, his jaw lax. And he was covered in Monroe's scent. Arousal coiled tight in his belly and he growled, digging his nails into the tops of Nick's shoulders, as he belatedly realised that Nick was still wearing his sweatpants.

Monroe pulled back, breaking their contact, and Nick's brows furrowed in confusion as he whimpered. But Monroe yanked at his waistband and Nick lifted himself to cooperate, kicking the pants away to the floor. Then, before Monroe had a chance to fully appreciate the sight of Nick almost naked in his bed, hard and wanting him, he found their positions flipped, Nick hovering above him as his head thumped back against the pillow. The small reminder of Nick's own strength and predatory instincts was such a turn on that Monroe felt his eyes tinge with red as his mouth went dry and in the back of his mind he wondered how he had ever managed to live without this. Previous sexual experiences already seemed to pale in comparison.

"Nick," he forced out, mildly surprised that he was still capable of speech. "We both know where this is going, and... oh God..." he paused as Nick ducked his head and flicked his tongue against his inner thigh, his hands finding Nick's hair, "...and I won't be able to let you go after this."  

Nick raised his head again and their eyes met, and there was so much unsaid and yet unnecessary to say. Monroe needed him to know that he would be in this for the long haul, risks be damned; wanted him to understand that he was more when he was with Nick, so much more, and that he would do anything to protect him.

The emotion in Nick's eyes ran deep, and he simply replied, "Likewise." Then, in one swift motion, he freed Monroe's straining erection from his boxers and sucked the tip into his mouth while holding down his hips. Monroe howled.

He was certainly not able to produce any sentences after that; hell, he was barely even able to think coherently. The warm, wet chasm of Nick's mouth surrounded him, sucking him deeper and deeper, his tongue dragging and swirling and doing something absolutely incredible. Monroe wanted to thrust up into that mouth but Nick's hands were strong, keeping him down, and all he could manage were tiny jerks that did nothing to get his cock further down Nick's throat. But Nick kept taking him, and he was so gorgeous with his cheeks hollowed and his eyes lidded and the lust coming off him in waves as he rubbed his own groin against the mattress beneath him, getting off on Monroe's pleasure. Every little groan he let out reverberated through Monroe's entire being, and when Nick scraped barely-there teeth along the shaft he cried out, pulling hard on Nick's hair, half afraid he was going to come right then and there.

He pulled Nick's mouth off him, he cock twitching at the filthy wet sound when Nick's lips disconnected and Nick actually whined at the loss of contact, sounding just as high as Monroe felt, and if that wasn't sexy then Monroe didn't know what was. He effortlessly switched their positions once again, manhandling Nick onto his stomach and, after divesting him of his boxers, settled between his thighs. Nick was breathing heavily, and Monroe exhaled his own shaky breaths. With Nick spread beneath him like this, waiting for him, it was like all his Christmases had come at once. He ran his hands up and down the sides of Nick's torso, watching as the firm muscles quivered under his touch, and bent down to lick a stripe all the way up Nick's spine. Nick shuddered, fisting his hands in the sheets and humping the bed under his hips. "Dude," Monroe gasped, almost entranced. "You are so hot."

"Please, Monroe," and Nick's voice sounded like it was about to break, "I need you."

"Holy hell," Monroe snarled as the last threads of his self-control snapped and he reached out to rummage urgently through his bedside table. "You have no idea what you do to me, Nick."

Nick laughed breathlessly. "I think I've got a fairly good idea."

Lube in one hand, Monroe sat back between Nick's thighs and nudged at his hip with his free hand. "Up," he commanded. And Nick eagerly obeyed, shifting up onto his knees and elbows, presenting his glorious ass and Monroe felt himself become impossibly harder. He leaned in to get the scent, inhaling deeply, almost dizzy with how Nick was submitting to him, and without thinking darted his tongue out to lick at him. The whine that Nick let out in response was so dirty that Monroe dropped the lube and licked him again, taking Nick's ass cheeks in his hands and spreading them open, flicking his tongue around the opening there and quickly reducing Nick to a shaking mess of incoherent babbling. Nick was mindlessly pressing back against his tongue, stringing together curses and whimpers and endearments, and Monroe reached around with one hand to take hold of Nick's cock, hanging hot and heavy between his legs. Nick's babbles became groans and whines as he alternated thrusting into Monroe's fist and trying to impale himself on Monroe's tongue, almost out of his mind with lust. His whole body shook as Monroe finally tore himself away and relocated the lube, slicking his fingers generously and touching the first into position.

He had been about to offer Nick one more chance to call a stop to this, before they really went far enough that it would be hard to take back again, but Nick shocked him out of it by shoving his ass back, and his finger breached the tight ring of muscle before he'd even been ready for it. They moaned in unison before Monroe came back to his senses and slipped his finger the rest of the way in, sliding it gently backwards and forwards as he stroked Nick's back with his free hand to relax him. Only when Nick was rocking back onto his finger with near on abandon did he add a second and then a third, and he curled them in search of that sweet spot that would make Nick writhe. He knew he'd found it when Nick's head snapped back and his back arched, a scream torn from the depths of his being. "OhgodohgodMonroe... rightthererightthereplease!"

"Jesus..." Monroe draped himself over Nick's back, reaching for his cock again as he continued to finger-fuck him. Nick struggled to know which direction he should push, with Monroe's fingers rubbing his prostate and Monroe's palm stroking his dick, and Monroe humped his own leaking erection against the back of Nick's thigh as he tried to hold onto control. But it was too much, and soon he pulled his fingers back and coated his own cock with lube. He lined himself up, taking hold of Nick's hips with sticky hands, and pressed gently against him. Before he went any further, he let out a breathless laugh, and Nick craned his head around to give him an incredulous look - or as incredulous as it was possible to give when he already looked so thoroughly fucked.

"I guess we're really doing this, huh?" Monroe's voice sounded gravelly and foreign to his own ears, and Nick huffed out a desperate noise in response.

"We'd better be."

There was more than a hint of a challenge in his voice and Monroe almost couldn't hold back the woge that threatened to overcome him. He growled, deep and gnarly, and breathed through his teeth as he pushed slowly into Nick's heat. Nick's fingers clenched and unclenched as he breathed heavily through the stretch, and damn, the man was so tight, it was all Monroe could do not to snap his hips forward and slam straight into him. He eased and eased until he was balls deep, pausing for a moment to catch his breath, before pulling almost all the way out and pushing straight back again. Nick was whimpering now, almost sobbing, but his expression was blissful and his mouth hung open. His arms trembled with the exertion of keeping himself up. Slowly but surely, he began to relax around Monroe, allowing him to move a little more freely, keeping his pace steady as he searched once more for that spot that would help send Nick to dizzying heights. The babbling words and spasming muscles came again as he found it, and he began to speed up his movements, reaching around for Nick's cock as he draped himself over his back, pounding that same spot over and over.

Nick was a mess, and Monroe couldn't get enough of seeing him like this, so undone, just because of him. "Tell me what you want," he grunted between thrusts, whispering the words against the shell of Nick's ear.

"I want you," Nick babbled back, the words spewing from his mouth. "Want you so bad. Want you to come in me. Want you to make me come. Wanted you for so long, oh God Monroe, never wanted anyone so much. Please, fuck me, fuck me, just like this, I want this, want you to claim me, want you to love me-"

And that did away with Monroe's abandon. "Mine, mine, mine..." he chanted as he lost himself completely in the feeling of Nick surrounding him, sinking his teeth hard into the juncture between Nick's neck and shoulder to anchor himself as he pumped Nick's cock in time with his thrusts and keening as he felt the slick of Nick's release all over his hand, the scent of it filling his nostrils and taking over his senses so much that he barely noticed the taste of blood on his tongue. Both hands went back to Nick's hips and he fucked him, eyes red and feeling only need as the orgasm built up within him and he released inside Nick's ass, white heat behind his eyelids and forehead pressed against Nick's sweaty back.

He rode the feeling out before he finally stilled, boneless and satisfied. The sound of their heavy breathing seemed to echo around the room. After a few moments, Monroe pulled carefully out of Nick, and ducked into the bathroom to grab a couple of towels. Nick took one gratefully, and they cleaned themselves up before collapsing to lie side-by-side on the bed. It was only then that Monroe noticed the bloody bite mark on Nick's shoulder, and recognised the taste of it in his mouth, and the bliss he had been feeling morphed into panic.

"Oh, no..." he garbled, and Nick looked at him quizzically. "Oh, God. I bit you Nick." He reached his hand up, stopping just short of touching the mark. "I can't believe I did that. That could have been so not good. I could've gone too far, I could have killed you, even."

Nick huffed and tried his best to look at the mark, prodding at it with his own fingers. "It's not that bad."

"You're missing the point. Jesus, I knew we should have talked about this first, but I just couldn't stop. I'm so sorry-"

"Hey," Nick interrupted, rolling towards him and propping himself up on his elbow. "You'd better not be having regrets now. I just submitted to you. I wouldn't do that for just any Blutbad."

"That you did it at all is crazy." Monroe pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I marked you. Do you actually get the implications of that?"

Nick gave him a half shrug. "After I just pretty much bared my soul at you, I kind of like the idea of being yours."

Monroe groaned, a mixture of pleasure and exasperation at the words.

"Not that I'm going to suddenly let you boss me around or anything," Nick hurriedly added. "I mean... it's just good to know that we're on the same page, I guess." He picked at the bed sheet absently. "I still don't want you to get hurt. And if you do anything stupid because of me, I'll be really angry with you. But... the feeling's mutual, right?"

And Nick looked into his eyes, all hopeful and gorgeous, and Monroe smirked. "You'd better believe it is."


End file.
